


The Last Oozings

by creepy_shetan



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Birthday, Community: comment_fic, Gen, Inspired by Poetry, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepy_shetan/pseuds/creepy_shetan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sol could do without this "random encounter" (pfft, yeah right), especially on Halloween.</p><p>(Originally posted 2013/8/2 as a fill for a prompt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Oozings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rett_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rett_chan).



"'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'!"

Sol drained his glass and slammed it onto the countertop.

"'Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun'!"

He felt a masculine hand roughly pat his back and heard a feminine laugh off to one side.

"'Conspiring with him how to load and bless with fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run'..."

For a moment, an arm draped around his shoulder and the deep voice was close to his ear, but then just as suddenly they slipped away, much like the smoke rising and dispersing throughout the bar. The stool to the right of the bounty hunter became doubly occupied; he paid no attention to it as he motioned to the bartender for another round. 

Sol didn't have to look over to know why the lilting giggle had become more of a whispering moan. Slayer chuckled, his back leaning against the bar. Sharon offered a quick kiss before she stood and disappeared into the crowd, a slowly darkening handkerchief held to her neck. It was a perfect match to the cloth lightly dabbing along the smirk on the older man's lips.

"Figures I'd run into you on Halloween... What's with you and poetry?"

"Ah, I've made an exception for Keats," Slayer replied, obviously pleased to be asked the question he wanted to be asked, "He and I have something in common today."

Sol took his time swallowing his gin (which was basically shit, but he expected as much from this brand of dive bar and this cheap price) and caught the nightwalker's monocle-less brown eye with a sideways glance and a crooked grin.

"Hn? You want me to say 'happy birthday,' old man?"

Slayer's own smirk stretched to reveal red-stained teeth, his predatory eyes containing a hint of amusement.

"That would be nice, especially without the quip about my age. Although, I suppose that nowadays, you rarely get the chance to meet anyone older than you. Do I make you feel young again?"

Sol made a sharp sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He shook his head only a little but it was just enough for his auburn locks to shift around his face, revealing his left eye's golden hue in addition to his right eye's crimson. In the dim hazy light, the mismatched irises and pupils probably appeared the same to those who dared to look, but Slayer could easily see the difference. 

The moment passed; the gold eye was again obstructed from Slayer’s view as Sol flicked his head back to empty his glass and slam it down for the second time. His gaze was locked on an area of the worn countertop where rough carvings pooled with spilled amber.

"Whatever. You want nice? I'll buy you a drink. I'll even toast with you if it means you'll get the fuck out of my face after."

Slayer shrugged amiably, unconcerned with whether his companion saw it or not. He pulled out a pipe from an inside pocket of his jacket and methodically prepared it.

"Oh? That sounds equally tempting and insulting," he said between puffs of smoke, "and yet for you, it’s also curiously generous. I doubt you can afford my taste in liquor, however." Slayer paused to take a long drag, his eyes following a figure in the crowd. "Besides, I've already received a better offer."

Sharon reemerged from the shadowy mass of people wearing even more red than before and a delicate feathered mask that covered half of her face. She stopped to stand at Slayer's side, resting an elbow on the older man's shoulder as he held her close with one arm and continued to smoke his pipe with the other. 

"Yes, some trick-or-treating business, let's say," Slayer murmured before brushing Sharon's dark hair aside so that he could breathe in the scent of her healing neck. Sol rolled his eyes. Being around Slayer and his walking food supply left a worse taste in his mouth than the cheap gin.

The bounty hunter tried to ignore the pair as they departed. He tried to block out the other man’s voice, but Slayer used the same cheerfully booming tone he had announced his presence with earlier. His parting words were bad enough, but the fact that they simply refused to mingle with the buzzing chatter or fade into the garishly decorated background only served to irritate Sol further.

Somehow, he knew that asshole wouldn’t be able to resist using a line of Keats in a farewell haiku.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: Any, any, the thirty-first of October.  
> The theme: Birthdays  
> Originally posted [here](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/450366.html?thread=70812222#t70812222).  
> I only own the writing.
> 
> For the curious... The title and the lines of poetry are from the ode "To Autumn" by John Keats.


End file.
